


To Walk a Mile

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-08-01
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12414165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: A series of short vignettes featuring some of our favorite (and not so favorite) minor characters.





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Choices 

A/N: Many thanks to I Shant Eat Flamingo Tongues for betaing!  


Gregory Goyle’s life is filled with difficult choices. From the moment he wakes up to when he goes to bed, he must make about one-hundred-and-three or so, he’s sure of it.

There are difficult choices about what to do in Hogsmeade. There are difficult choices about playing Quidditch (generally about which person he should hit with a ball of iron). Difficult choices about food, friends, essays, spells, brooms, Fanged Frisbees, Fizzing Whizbees and even about what underarm deodorant to buy.

Sometimes there’s a choice to make just after he gets up in the morning. Today all of his socks seem to have disappeared or are in the wash. He can’t even seem to find the ones his cousin, Wilimina, gave him last year that hopped towards the nearest laundry hamper when they got too dirty. Should he nick a pair of Malfoy’s (Crabbe’s are too big and stretched) and possibly pay for it later? Or should he just go around all day with no socks?

He decides on the latter and makes his way to the Great Hall with cold ankles.

He’s not five minutes into his bacon when there is another important choice to make.

“They don’t make socks big enough for your feet, eh?” a forth year sneers.

Should he punch the fourth year in the head or hex his hair so that it falls out (a very useful hex that he picked up from a rather unfortunate incident with his mum)? This time, he decides on the former and receives a detention from Professor Sinistra, who happenes to be walking past.

After a filling breakfast he’s off to Charms, one of his few NEWT level classes. He would have liked to have taken Potions with Malfoy and Crabbe but he’d not managed to get an ‘A’ on his Potion’s OWL. His parents, who just so happened to own a very prestigious apothecary in Scotland, had not been pleased.

Upon arriving in the Charms classroom, Goyle chooses to sit behind Daphne Greengrass, a particularly good-looking girl in his year. Malfoy and Crabbe aren’t taking Charms this year so he ends up partnering with Pansy Parkinson to practice a sleeping charm.

Goyle doesn’t particularly like Pansy. Her laughter is more like an annoying shriek that hurts his ears and he ends up half-listening to her gossip about Daphne Greengrass (here he chooses to withhold the fact that he thought Daphne was much prettier then Pansy) while they practiced putting each other to sleep.

He comes out of Charms fully rested and goes on his way to break. He’s sure Crabbe is around somewhere, but Malfoy is in Arithhmancy, he thinks. Or it could be Ancient Runes, he’s not exactly sure.

What should he spend his break doing? Hew could always sneak down to the kitchen for some snacks. Or he could go start his Herbology essay (due tomorrow)...

Once in the kitchen, house-elves scuttle over to him, bearing trays of his favourite sweets.

He looks around happily at his selections. After several moments of deliberation he cannot decide if he wants some of Plunkie’s secret stash of Quidditch Creams or some rhubarb pie.

The pie would be good, but he is going to have lunch soon...

His mum’s voice floats through his head. No pie now, Gregory. You’ll ruin your appetite!

“Yes, mum,” he murmurs almost silently, before taking a Quidditch Cream. Goyle has absolutely no idea where his friends are. It’s lunch and they are sitting nowhere at the Slytherin table. He even checks the Gryffindor table, just in case Malfoy’s having a go at Potter. He’s nowhere to be seen.

So without having to flank Malfoy, he is pleased to find himself sitting next to Daphne Greengrass.

Once again, he is faced with a difficult choice. He would like to talk to Daphne, but she would probably look at him with that weird, girl-look (which made them look like they were about to get sick all over him or something).

Goyle takes a deep breath. “Um, Daphne?”

She looks over at him, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Could you, uh, pass the potatoes?”

“Sure,” she says with a smile, handing him the dish of potatoes before going back to her friend.

He doesn’t really want potatoes, but he piles them onto his plate so she doesn’t think he’s an idiot. He wouldn’t want anyone thinking that about him.

“Hey, Goyle!”

Malfoy strides towards him, a big smirk on his face.

“Hi, Malfoy,” Goyle says thickly through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Where’ve you been?” Malfoy demands.

“Here,” Goyle answers.

He chooses not to add the fact that he’s supposed to be here. It is lunch, after all.

“Crabbe and I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Malfoy says. “Come on.”

Goyle spares a glace for his half eaten bowl of soup, grabs a thickly buttered roll and follows Malfoy out of the Great Hall.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

Malfoy doesn’t say anything.

“Why weren’t you and Crabbe at lunch?” he tries again.

“Because we were looking for you,” Malfoy snaps, leading him across the Entrance Hall.

“Why?”

“You’ll see,” Malfoy says slowly.

“Where are we going?” Goyle asks.

“Outside,” Malfoy answers.

Indeed they do go outside. Crabbe is waiting by the lake. It’s particularly windy outside and Goyle wishes he’d brought a scarf.

“Finally,” Crabbe groans. “It’s freezing out here.”

Malfoy shoots him a look and beckons them closer. When they’re all standing together, their foreheads almost touching, Malfoy looks around.

The only other people on the grounds are a couple of third years near the pumpkin patch, and Hagrid, the stupid Care of Magical Creatures teacher. He’s striding into the forest with a big piece of meat over his shoulder and Goyle is reminded of the Thestrals last year.

Malfoy looks frighteningly determined. Goyle wonders if this is about his meeting with the Dark Lord he had been talking about the other day on the train. He would not tell them what had happened and Goyle hopes that is what this meeting is about.

“Crabbe, Goyle,” Malfoy says slowly.

They both look up obediently.

“I need you to help me kill Dumbledore.”

Gregory Goyle’s life is filled with difficult choices. 


	2. The Great Unable-to-Skate Nancy

A/N: This is my first try and anything with Marauders in it, and also anything with romance, so feedback is welcomed with open arms and cookies.  
  
This was written for a gift community on livejournal.   


 

If there was one thing James Potter hated, it was winter. Sure, presents and puddings were ace, but that was only one slice of the whole winter pie.

He always had to shovel the walkway without magic, which, according to his father, built _moral fiber_. It seemed as if winter was just a big excuse for building _moral fiber_ , or for making _family memories_ in the Potter household, as no magic was allowed when decorating the tree, baking puddings or cleaning up wrapping paper. There were suffocating kisses from his Aunt Fanny, damp socks and carol-induced headaches. Luckily, or so he thought, James was staying at Hogwarts this year for the Christmas holidays.

“I love winter!” Lily announced, her cheeks pink from the cold, as she sat down next to him on the couch by the fire.

“That would have to be one thing that I agree with you on, Evans,” Sirius said, shaking the snow from his hair.

James grumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Blegh, winter…”

“It’s really nice outside, James,” Lily said, sliding her chilly hands under her legs for warmth. “Do you want to go skating for a bit?”

Sirius snorted loudly, but quickly turned it into a cough after a glare from James. Remus smiled from behind his newspaper knowingly.

“Er - I would, Lily. But, I’ve got - er - stuff to do,” James invented quickly. “With…Peter… Ah, I’m probably already late! You know Pete, nasty tempter when you keep him waiting, you might have to come down later and collect me in a matchbox!”

“What kind of stuff?” Sirius asked slyly.

“Stuff,” James growled.

He then jumped up and promptly left the common room.*

The ceiling of the Great Hall conveyed a grey sky swirling with fluffy bit of snow as James shoveled potatoes into his mouth. Avoiding Filch so that he didn’t get hung upside down from the ankles in a grubby, smelly office sure did make a man hungry.

“Hey, Potter!”

Lily plopped down next to him and poked him in the shoulder.

“Let’s race,” she said through a grin.

“Er - wot?” he asked, his mouth unattractively filled with potatoes.

“Put on your ice skates and we’ll have a race!” Lily challenged, eyes shining.

“When you say skating…you mean on the Lake?” James asked lamely.

Lily nodded.

“On ice?”

“Yes, James. What other kind of skating is there?” Lily sighed.

“Well, that time last year Sirius and I spilled some pudding and - oh, never mind…” James trailed off, getting the vibe that Lily didn’t really want to hear about Pudding Skating.

“Well?” Lily prompted.

James ran a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, Lily. You know, you’re an awfully sore loser.”

“Oh, really?” Lily raised an eyebrow. “What if… If you win, I’ll go to Hogsmeade with you.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “We’ve already been to Hogsmeade together. Twice.”

Lily adopted a disconcerting grin. “Yes, but who says I’ll go again?”

James almost lost his composure. Almost. “I know you can’t keep away, Evans.”

It took every ounce of strength in his body to walk out of the Great Hall, leaving behind an annoyed redhead and a half eaten piece of shepard’s pie.

*

James crept across the Entrance Hall, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak. A pair of ice skates were slung over his shoulder and a thick woolen hat jammed on his head.

Things had been going so well with Lily. She hadn’t been serious about not going out with him, had she? She wouldn’t chuck him and start ice skating with someone like that prat Big-ears What’s-his-name from Hufflepuff, would she? He couldn’t take any chances, which was why he was pushing open the great oak doors and slipping out onto the grounds in the middle of the night.

It had stopped snowing earlier that night and now the crescent moon was trying to shine out from behind the clouds. There was smoke curling out of the chimney of Hagrid’s cabin but there was no activity behind the windows. James could only see a scatter star, but his wand illuminated the way for him.

James ploughed through the thick blanket of freshly fallen snow towards the Lake, leaving a deep path. He was a quick learner, this should be easy.

He took off the cloak and jammed Remus’ skates onto his feet. They were a bit big, but James didn’t own any, Peter’s were too small and if he had asked Sirius for his he would never hear the end of it.

Shakily he stood and tottered onto the ice. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “this isn’t so bad.”

He slid his foot forward and pitched sideways, falling flat on his back, glasses askew.

“Bollocks,” he grunted, “that hurt.”

“Merlin, this is too good,” came a painfully familiar voice from over his right shoulder.

James craned his neck pitifully to look at her. Lily stood at the edge of the Lake, skates in hand, large red earmuffs on her head, looking thoroughly amused.

“Go ahead,” James groaned. “Laugh at James Potter, the great unable-to-skate nancy.”

Lily laced up her skates. “Why didn’t you just tell me you couldn’t skate?” She glided out next to his and offered him her hand.

James took it and was hoisted up, leaving him to lean unsteadily on Lily, which he didn’t _quite_ mind. “I don’t know. You’d think I was an idiot.” 

Lily laughed. “I already _know_ you’re an idiot,” she said with a level look. “But it’s not like I’m going to care if you can’t skate. As much as you’d like people to believe you are, you’re not perfect.”

James didn’t know whether to smile or scowl.

“Now, c’mon. One foot in front of the other. It’s really just a lot like walking.”

Forty-five minutes later, James had bruises in places no bruise had ever been before, and he probably couldn’t out-skate his five year old cousin, but at least he could stand.

“Now,” Lily grinned. “How about that race?”

As expected, James lost terribly, veering off course and falling headfirst into a snow bank, but Lily took pity on him and went to Hogsmeade with him anyway. 


End file.
